


Keep Them From Harm

by butterflychansan



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Bossy Nurse Ymir, Doctor AU, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, I say the word doctor a lot ok, Intern Christa, Medical Jargon, Modern AU, Multi, Neurosurgeon Erwin, Orthopedic Surgeon Reiner, Paramedic Connie, Pediatric Surgeon Jean, Pediatric Surgeon Sasha, Physical Therapist Marco, Plastic Surgeon Bertolt, Surgeons, Surgeons AU, Trauma Surgeon Levi, hospital au, idk man, multi-ship, some gore but not gory??
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 17:25:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1175815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflychansan/pseuds/butterflychansan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s hard to keep your head above water working too many hours at the hospital with not enough sleep, but man, are they going to try. </p><p>Erwin Smith is the star neurosurgeon tipped to be the next Chief of Surgery, and Levi -- fresh out of the US Army and one of the best trauma surgeons in the country -- is determined to ignore Doctor Handsome and maybe knock him down a few pegs. Jean Kirschtein is the head of pediatric surgery, but no matter how talented he is, he can’t stop getting too attached to the kids he’s trying to save. His fiancé is Marco Bodt, the most popular physical therapist in the hospital who knows more than he should about almost everyone in the place. That includes Reiner Braun, the soldier and kick-ass orthopedic surgeon who accepts a job just to be near Doctor Bert Hoover -- but is determined to keep his secrets to himself.</p><p>They weave through each other’s lives as days and nights go by, balancing personal lives and professional struggles and drinking way too much coffee. The people who took an oath to heal and protect learn that they tend to do these things best when they think they’re at their worst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep Them From Harm

**Author's Note:**

> for the record, when the chapter is sectioned off with an asterisk (*) it implies that the time has changed. But when it's marked with three dashes (- - -) it implies that the POV the story is being told from changed. IE, switching from Jean to Reiner, back again, etc.

5:43 AM.

“Doctor Smith, can you take a look at these scans for me?”

“I need a consult on the patient with the pituitary tumor, Doctor--”

“Doctor, the little girl in 4215 woke up last night with--”

Erwin Smith checked his pager in between the questions ricocheting around the hallway as he walked. Blank -- no badass surgeries or emergency 911s that would have him running to the ER -- he put it back on the waistband of his scrubs and tried to keep up with the voices echoing too loud in the hospital corridor.

Two interns tailed him, and one of the nurses just coming off the night shift followed suit, reminding him herself about all the little things his patients had done that he’d missed while he caught three hours of sleep in the on-call room. 

The sun hadn’t even risen high enough yet to start slipping through the windows of the neurology department’s lobby. But there were already more voices, small nests of people scattered around the blocky chairs of the lobby, waiting for test results and visiting hours and information on their loved ones in surgery. Everyone looked up when the head of Neurosurgery walked into the room. And everyone had questions that he tried to answer as best as he could.

Erwin kept his tone and expression mild. Pleasant. As pleasant as you can be. The fluorescent lights and monotone decor of the lobby made everyone look like they’d been awake for a week. 

Erwin had actually more or less been awake for a week, at this point.

When finally the buzz had lulled and he had his hands on the stack of charts set aside for him, Erwin sat down in one of the chairs behind the front desk. 

The nurse manning the desk this morning looked up at him from the paperwork in front of her and gave him a terrified expression.

Erwin glanced sideways at her and smiled. “Sorry. Just sitting here for a minute. Don’t mind me.”

“I, uh--no problem at all. Good morning, sir,” was all the nurse could manage.

“Good morning.” Erwin turned his attention to the charts, pulling a pen out of the breast pocket of his white lab coat.

“Do you have a lot of surgeries today?” the nurse asked shyly, twisting a strand of pretty dark hair behind her ear. She stared at the deep v-neck of his navy scrubs.

“Not too bad,” Erwin replied vaguely, barely paying attention. He marked the paperwork for the different tests he wanted done. His handwriting scrawled, scratching and nearly illegible, across the left margin of the pages as he made notes.

“What are your plans for lunch?” The nurse blurted out suddenly.

“Sandwich from the cafeteria most likely.” Erwin flipped a chart closed, utterly oblivious. “Hmm... Maybe a salad. Has Kirschtein in Peds gotten the new scans for the neuroblastoma patient yet?”

The nurse cleared her throat. “Um... Not yet.”

“Let me know when he does, please?”

“Sure.”

Erwin went methodically through the rest of his charts, prepping for his day, scheduled down to the hour. He didn’t speak again for the while, and the nurse rolled her chair slowly to the other end of the desk, blushing furiously.

Erwin Smith remembered every patient he’d been assigned; he knew their names, and he knew the names of the general practitioners who’d referred them to him. He was good at handling that kind of thing. 

And besides, it was hard not to remember every patient. If they were coming in for a consult with the head surgeon of this hospital’s neurology department, then they were usually the ones who needed help the most. They were the last chancers; the worst-case scenarios.

He was good at handling that kind of thing, too. He could walk away at the end of the day and accept that he’d done what he could. But that was what separated him from a lot of other equally talented surgeons. That was what made him the best.

Erwin smoothed a hand over the wave of his blonde hair, pushing a chart towards the center of the desk with the other and sitting back in his chair.

“Can you make sure the interns check on 4208 first when they do their morning rounds?” he asked the nurse with a smile.

She stammered out a “yes,” looking at him like he was a god.

“And when he gets a referral for an ENT consult, make sure it’s Doctor Zakarius, please.”

“Why?” asked a deep voice from above him.

Mike Zakarius leaned heavily against the other side of the counter that sectioned off the front desk. His hair hung shaggy in his eyes until he swept it back under his scrub cap and tied the drawstrings at the back of his head.

Erwin looked up at him. “You’re my ENT guy,” he said plainly. “I don’t use anyone else.”

“Hmm,” was all Mike said, an affirmation.

“If you do the consult, you can scrub in on the surgery,” Erwin offered with a suggestive lift of his eyebrows. “Might be a craniotomy.”

“Hoover in the burn unit has me booked all afternoon,” Mike replied. “The military guys are coming in today, though. Ask one of them.”

“Shit. Today?”

Mike nodded, rubbing his tired eyes.

“Oh yeah,” the nurse piped up suddenly. “I heard about them. Are they both neuro...?”

“No. Both trauma guys,” Erwin said. “Well, I think Doctor Braun specialized in orthopedics before, but everyone turns into a trauma surgeon in the middle of the  
desert. What’s the other guy’s name?” He asked Mike.

“He just goes by Levi,” Mike replied gruffly. “Not even the Chief knows his last name. He’s supposed to be that badass. Whatever his last name is, I smell a new recruit for the ER.”

“Trauma surgeons are so hardcore,” the nurse breathed.

“And these guys are fresh out of Iraq,” Erwin agreed. “I’ll take everything I can learn from them.”

“Maybe they’ll replace us all with Army vets,” Mike said, “and I’ll get to go home and sleep.”

“How long have you been here?”

“34 hours.”

“Christ.” Erwin rubbed the edge of his stubbled jaw, wondering offhand if he would even have time to shave today. 

And then there was a reaction, a tectonic shift of everyone in the entire lobby: the nurses moving from hallway to front desk, the families and visitors waiting, they all looked up; Mike turned on his heel and stood up straight, his eyes narrowing; the nurse stopped mid-breath of what she was about to say, and Erwin craned his neck to see.

The brass-coloured elevator doors had slid open. 

Everyone was waiting for something different. That’s the nature of a hospital. 

When the slender older man wearing a dress shirt and tie under his doctor’s coat stepped out of the elevator, the families and nurses turned away. But Mike was clearing his throat and straightening his pager at his hip, and Erwin stood up immediately, because Pixis, the Chief of Surgery, was heading their way.

And he was laughing. Well, that was different.

He strode across the length of the lobby with his hands clasped behind his back as he talked with the two men following along. 

The man on the left towered over Chief Pixis. His dark blue scrubs were a little tight across the thick muscle of his chest and arms. He carried the white doctor’s  
coat someone had given him folded over one darkly suntanned arm, and every so often he lifted the other to run his hand over the blonde hair just starting to grow out from a buzzcut. His posture and stance were so relaxed and easy when he spoke to the Chief, it felt like Erwin was watching a conversation between old friends. The limp of the man’s right leg was barely noticeable when he moved so confidently.

Erwin and Mike noticed, but only because they were trained to.

“That must be Levi,” the nurse said about the blonde. “Wow, he looks badass.”

Erwin didn’t answer. He was staring at the other one. 

He was short. The other one-- the one to the Chief’s right, looking up at Pixis as he talked and bowing his head when he listened. He barely reached the top of the blonde doctor’s shoulder. And he looked so... delicate, the line of his jaw so refined, and when he frowned, the bow of his mouth was a goddamned Romantic era poem waiting to happen. His eyes were such a soft grey. But this sensitivity contrasted so deeply with how quick this man’s brain was working -- he looked bored, but Erwin could tell immediately. This guy missed nothing, his gaze moving slowly across the room, assessing, scrutinizing, judging, moving on. 

When he met Erwin’s gaze, his eyes widened. In surprise, maybe. After a moment of hesitation, he realized the look on his face and turned away, frowning.

Erwin wondered how anyone could willingly let this guy put a uniform on and throw himself into a war zone.

And then the soldier’s eyes slid away, and Erwin’s mouth was dry, and he tried to pay attention when the Chief greeted them with a smile.

“Good morning,” Pixis said, pleasant. “I want to introduce the military surgeons we’re showing around the hospital today to you two.”

Mike held his hand out to the big blonde guy. “You’ve gotta be Levi. Heard great things, man. You’re intense.”

The doctor looked at him quizzically, slowly shaking his hand, trying to be polite. “I’m actually Doctor Braun, I’m the ortho guy...”

“I’m Levi,” said the short man, his voice husky.

Mike dropped his hand in surprise.

Levi ignored him, turning his steady gaze on Erwin and the nurse. “Can one of you go get me some goddamned coffee?”

Pixis backpedaled. “Ah. We don’t require our nurses to assist the surgeons like that...and Erwin is--”

Erwin smiled. “Isn’t a nurse. I’m Erwin Smith, I’m the, uh.. I’m the department head for neuro here.”

Levi gave him a cold look. “I know exactly who you are. Which is why I asked you to bring me coffee.”

Even the Chief looked stunned. Reiner Braun shot a glance sideways at his tiny commanding officer, the “what the fuck are you doing” expression on his face pretty clear.

Erwin shoved the pen in his hand back into his pocket. “What, black?”

“Black,” Levi confirmed, stone cold. His eyes never left Erwin’s face.

“Doctor Smith, you really don’t have to--” intoned Pixis.

Erwin held up his hand. “No, really. My pleasure. Why don’t you come with me, Doctor? I’ll show you around.”

Levi glanced sideways at Pixis.

The Chief spoke up. “Great idea. Hopefully you’ll like it here enough that you want to stay. You two should get to know each other.”

“What is this, a blind date?” Levi said sourly.

“In the most professional way,” Pixis replied with a gracious smile that nearly curled his moustache. With that he swept smoothly into a conversation with the blonde guy -- Doctor Braun, and they strolled away from the desk, heading towards the elevator bay.

“So the whole reason he brought us up here was to introduce me to you,” Levi said, his voice deep with distaste.

“I’m glad,” Erwin replied lightly, setting his charts on the desk next to the nurse. “Can you make sure these get where they need to go for me, please?”

When she nodded slightly, Erwin smiled and looked up at Levi. 

“This way,” he said to Levi, indicating with an elegant wave of his hand.

Levi scowled.

 

*

 

7:35 AM

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Erwin said as they stepped out of the elevators, “why exactly did the Chief set me up to be the one showing you around? I thought you were a trauma specialty.”

“I am,” Levi said. “But I asked for you.”

Erwin looked down at him, surprised. “You did?”

“You don’t just come to this hospital and not meet Erwin Smith. I heard about you even when I was stationed in Iraq.”

“So you knew who I was?”

“I’d be a fucking idiot not to.”

“Then... why did you ask me to get you coffee?”

“Because you could be the greatest surgeon in the world, but I wasn’t going to work with you if you were an arrogant shithead.” Levi peeled the lid off his styrofoam cup and took a sip of his coffee.

“So you’re thinking of staying,” Erwin said, his voice even, hiding his delight.

“Thinking. Where the fuck are we?”

They stood in the middle of the lobby of the Pediatrics wing. It was relatively quiet at this time of morning, only a few parents loitering around making phone calls, but Erwin and Levi could both hear the sound of children’s voices from the corridors that stretched behind the nurses’ station. 

“This is Peds,” Erwin explained, looking down at Levi. “I come down here for some consult work every so often, but mostly I just like the kids.”

Levi glanced sideways at him. “You’re handsome, talented, wealthy, blonde, and you like kids. You must be fighting women off with a stick.”

He said it like an insult, but Erwin beamed at him.

“Don’t really have the time to. But I prefer men anyway.”

Levi did that thing again. He looked right at Erwin, and his eyes widened, and for a minute, he looked like he wasn’t going to breathe. Like he’d seen a ghost.

And then a doctor rushed by and slammed right into Levi’s shoulder. 

The doctor turned around at once, his lab coat swept up in how quick he moved to double back and apologize. He smacked a hand to his face in embarrassment, then wiped the mousy brown hair off his forehead, running it down the back of his head where the hair was buzzed into an undercut, rubbing the back of his neck as he walked backwards.

“I’m sorry, kid,” he’d begun to say, “what room are you supposed to be in? I--” Then he looked Levi up and down, and without any hesitation, completely changed his tone. “Oh. I thought you were one of my patients.”

Levi scowled like a hissing cat.

“Levi,” Erwin said, trying his best to maintain diplomacy, “this is Jean Kirschtein. He’s the head of the Peds department. Doctor Kirschtein, this is--”

“You thought I was one of your kids,” Levi said evenly.

Jean’s eyes widened. “Oh, fuck. You’re Levi?”

Levi didn’t have to respond.

A moment of silence fell between them.

“Well that went as fucking badly as it possibly could have,” Jean said.

Levi narrowed his eyes.

“Jean,” Erwin said quickly, “did you get the scans back on the neuroblastoma kid yet?”

“Haven’t come in,” Jean called over his shoulder as he started walking again, grabbing the chart he needed off the nurses’ station and turning on his heel. “I’ll get them to you when I have a chance, my CP girl is here.”

Erwin seemed to understand, and let him go without comment.

 

\- - -

 

Jean rounded the corner and only gave himself a good thirty seconds to feel like the biggest dumbest fucking idiot in the world for blowing it with the rockstar army trauma guy. Any hope of having him scrub in one of his kids’ surgeries went right out the window; Jean had a sneaking suspicion that he was going to have to stand outside Levi’s window with a boombox on his shoulders just to get him to talk to him again. God damn it.

Thirty seconds. That’s how long he allowed. Then he cut the thoughts off wherever they had strayed, and focused on the paperwork in his hands. There were more important things at this point. He pushed his hair off his forehead again, took a deep breath, and caught the attention of the three interns dawdling at the end of the hall.

“Are we doing rounds or are we knitting sweaters here?” Jean asked roughly.

The interns moved at a run when he called them, and that only made him feel slightly better. When they reached him, straightening their coats and fiddling with their new pagers, Jean handed the chart to the smallest one, the young woman with blonde hair.

“What’s your name?” he demanded. Jean knew her name, but if he was going to teach these naive idiots fresh out of med school anything, it was how to stand up for themselves when your superior was an acting like an ass. He just happened to enjoy being that ass right about now.

“Christa,” the intern said sharply.

“Your name, intern.”

“Doctor Renz.” 

“Alright, Doctor Renz. You’re leading today.” And without any other acknowledgement, Jean went through the first door on the left. The interns shuffled behind him, their eyes wandering around the scene of the hospital room.

The patient wasn’t sitting in bed; she was already in her wheelchair, a chubby bunny stuffed animal in her lap that quivered every so often when the little girl’s hands twitched. Her face lit up when she saw him.

“Doctor John!” she said, pronouncing his name however she could. 

Jean crouched down in front her wheelchair with a grin, so they were eye-level. “Hey, tiny human. We just have to go through the official business stuff first, ok?” 

The little girl thrust her bunny towards him. “Official business stuff,” she repeated, her tone official and business-like.

Jean took the bunny offered to him and held it tucked under his arm when he stood up again. “Doctor Renz,” he said.

Christa stood a little taller among the interns and read off the chart. “Hannah Brightman, six years old, diagnosed with cerebral palsy at birth. Admitted three days ago for further tests after experiencing mild seizures, also here for more in-depth physical therapy while application for the new antispasmodic medication waits for approval.” 

“I don’t know what that word means,” Hannah said when Christa was done.

“Antispasmodics?” Jean asked.

“Mhm.”

“It means that when you hug Doctor Bunny, it won’t hurt as much.” Jean leaned down and set the bunny in her lap again. “You know what else it means?”

“Hmm?” Hannah stroked the top of the stuffed animal’s head, her fingers rigid and the movement of her hand a little too jerky and tight to be comfortable.

“It means that we’re gonna get you back to using your walker, and you can get out of your chair a little more often. That’s why we’re going to see the physical therapist today. Where did your mom go, Hannah?”

“She went to the cafeteria...” Hannah’s words came a little slower and spaced out than others when she spoke, but that did nothing to diminish her wicked intelligence. “Going to the cafeteria” in the Brightman family meant her mother sitting at one of the tables and arguing with the insurance companies over the phone for a couple of hours. Hannah knew it, and Jean could tell she knew it.

Jean stood up. “We’ll go see Doctor Marco now, and meet up with your mom after. We can tell her how good you’re gonna do.” He switched back to his serious tone when he looked at the interns. “One of you go find Doctor Blouse, you can finish up rounds with her. I’m taking Hannah down to the third floor.”

“Sir...” started one of the interns. “Shouldn’t you just have one of us take her down? I mean, how important is just one sick kid... You’re the head of Peds...”

Rage. That is the best word to describe Jean’s sudden urge to punch this intern right in the mouth. And if Hannah hadn’t been there, he might actually have gone and done it. But the little girl was watching, and she’d been through a lot -- having to be put back in the brace that held her to her wheelchair, the seizures, being admitted to the hospital when half the time it frightened her here -- that little girl had more balls than this intern ever would. 

The tiny humans were usually the only thing that kept Jean Kirschtein from fighting everyone in this place on a daily basis.

He managed to keep his voice level, through gritted teeth. “One sick kid is very important, Doctor Franz, and if I hear you say that again, I’ll make sure you’re the one on enema duty until the day you take your residency exams. Clear?”

How Jean managed to keep the f bomb out of that sentence was beyond him.

The intern looked terrified. He nodded ferociously.

“Go find Doctor Blouse.”

After the interns had scattered, Jean looked at Hannah again.

“You’re very important, Doctor John,” Hannah said quietly.

“So are you, kid. That’s why I’m taking you to see the best physical therapist we have in this whole entire hospital.” Jean kicked the brakes off her wheelchair and rolled her out of her room, making sure her stuffed animal was secure in her lap.

“What about my Amy therapist at home?” Hannah asked.

“Amy works here sometimes, too. So she told Doctor Marco all about the stuff you’ve been doing at home, and he’s going to help you get even better at it. Do you remember Doctor Marco?”

“I dunno.”

“You were really little the last time you saw him, it’s ok.” Jean hit the button for the elevator, reading his pager when it vibrated then ignoring it when he saw Doctor Blouse’s number. Sasha would be mad at him for lumping his interns onto her for the third time this week, but he had more important things to deal with than those nerds.

“Is he nice?” Hannah asked, flopping the bunny’s ears.

“He’s so nice. He’s the nicest. And he’s really funny. Make sure you ask him to tell you a joke, because he has a bunch of them. And they’re all really bad,” Jean added in a whisper.

Hannah giggled. He rolled her chair over the edge of the elevator and hit the button for the third floor. The elevator rolled upwards, and Jean rolled his shoulders, stretching his back, feeling the ache of exhaustion in his spine. Ugh. 

“Make sure you tell Doctor Marco about how your legs have been feeling,” he said after a minute.

Hannah bowed her head. “What if he makes me walk?”

“He won’t until you’re ready to. He’s really smart, so he knows exactly when that is, and even if you’re scared-- if Doctor Marco says you’re ready, then you’re definitely ready. Ok?”

“Ok.”

The elevator doors slid open. Jean didn’t need to follow the signs that lead to the PT department, he knew them by heart, but when Hannah pointed at the signs, he made sure he reacted to them. This was her scary adventure, and he knew it wouldn’t be easy for her, so he made it as calming and fun as he could. 

The door of the main workout room was ajar, and Jean rapped his knuckles on the doorjamb as he rolled Hannah’s chair in. 

“Marco,” he called into the adjacent room, “Hannah’s here, and she wants to hear one of your bad jokes.”

“Who says they’re bad?!” a voice yelled back. 

Hannah laughed again, but a little quieter, a little more nervous. 

Marco Bodt came through the doorway at the other side of the wide room, shrugging his lab coat off his shoulders. He wrinkled his nose at Jean, then smiled at Hannah and held out his hand to her when he reached her.

“Hi Hannah, I’m Marco.” 

“Hi Marco.” 

“Do you want to do something for me?”

“Mhmm.”

“I’m gonna wheel you over to all this cool stuff over here,” Marco said, doing exactly that and moving her to the corner of the room where the racks of supplies were set up along the wall. “And I want you to decide a few things for me, ok?”

“Ok.”

“I want you to decide your favourite animal, your favourite color, your favourite season, and your favourite breakfast food. I’m gonna talk to Doctor Jean for a minute, and then I’ll be back.”

He left Hannah to these harrowing decisions and crossed the room back to Jean, wrinkling his nose at him again and slipping his fingers along the ridges of Jean’s hips under his coat and scrubs.

“Stop tellin’ everyone my jokes are bad,” Marco murmured, smiling before he kissed his fiancé. 

“I had to give her fair warning,” Jean smiled. They kept their voices low, and when Jean frowned again suddenly, Marco’s tone was soft.

“What, baby?” 

“I kinda met the trauma god just now.”

“Oh my god, you did? How’d it go?”

“I accidentally mistook him for a little kid. And I told him so.”

Marco’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh man.”

“Yeah. Another entry in the List of Dumb Shit That Comes Out Of My Mouth book. I’m gonna be on janitor duty by the end of the night.”

“When do you get off tonight, by the way?”

“Eight, hopefully.” Jean glanced down when his pager started vibrating at his hip. With one hand he pulled Marco towards him and kissed his cheek, then let go and pulled the pager off his waistband to read it.

Marco just lingered close to him a little longer, his hand leading a trail up and down Jean’s back. This was the longest he’d had a hold on him since yesterday, and he was taking what he could get. 

“God damn it,” Jean said. “Scans for Casey.”

“Casey?”

“Neuroblastoma kid.” Jean sighed. “It might be bad. I don’t know yet. It might have spread to his bones, and if that happened...”

Marco leaned his face down, his lips tracing the shell of Jean’s ear. “This is probably inappropriate timing. But would me promising you really dirty sex when your shift ends make you feel better?”

“........ I’m gonna say yes.” 

“Really dirty sex,” Marco said lightly, like he was promising him dinner.

Jean kissed Marco’s cheek and slipped out of his grip, smiling broadly again. “I am so gonna marry you,” he said over his shoulder, heading towards the door.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Marco called back. Then he was gone, and Marco turned back to Hannah with a smile.

“Did you decide?” he asked.

Hannah listed her choices out proudly. “Bunnies, purple, summer, waffles.”

“That’s great.”

 

*

 

11:51 AM

Marco moved the last of the training equipment back in place from the appointment that had finished an hour ago. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his dark teal scrubs and looked up, surprised, when there was a soft knock on the door.

The doctor lingering in the doorway was tall, muscular, and his face was flushed pink with exertion. Marco was confused for a minute; he knew mostly everyone in the hospital, but he didn’t recognize this blonde guy at all.

He gave him a smile anyway. “Are you my 11:00 appointment? I thought you cancelled.”

The doctor cleared his throat. “No, I-- I didn’t make an appointment. I’m just here for the day, and when I asked around for some help from PT, they told me to come find you.”

The information clicked in Marco’s head. “You’re one of the army surgeons, huh?”

“Yeah.” The doctor extended his hand. “Reiner Braun. Nice to meet you.”

“Call me Marco. I’m really honored to meet you, man -- but you don’t happen to be the one my fiancé pissed off earlier, are you?”

“Which one’s your fiancé?”

“The guy from Peds who looks angry all the time.”

Reiner shook his head. “Haven’t been near Peds all day.”

Marco sighed in relief. “Ok, great. Have a seat.” He nodded at the chairs in the corner of the room, and took one himself.

Reiner sat down heavily opposite him. Clearly in pain. Marco studied the way he sat, the way he oriented the weight of his legs, and knew instantly.

“Is your question about your prosthetic?” he asked gently.

Reiner looked up at him, his dark eyes narrowing with shame. “Is that goddamned obvious?”

“Absolutely not. I’m just trained to notice it -- it’s not obvious to anyone but me, Reiner.”

Reiner looked at the kind face of the physical therapist for a long moment before he bent forward and started unlacing the sneaker on his right foot. He pulled it off, then hiked up the pant leg of his scrubs all the way to his thigh, revealing the metal framework of his prosthetic and the suspension system and socket that kept it from sliding off the residual limb where it ended above the knee.

“You mind if I take a look?” Marco said.

Reiner sat forward in his chair in response. They were quiet for a few minutes, then he spoke. “I haven’t really used it much yet, so walking around the hospital all day today... I was just wondering if you had some exercise or some shit I could do to make it a little less painful.”

“Is it alright if I take it off for a minute?” Marco asked. When Reiner nodded, he undid the suspensions and removed the prosthetic, peeling off the liner as well. The skin on Reiner’s thigh where it had sat in the socket of the prosthetic was red and irritated, ending in thick scars and deep bruises that blossomed purple and blue and green. Marco examined it with gentle hands, trying to respect Reiner when he blushed and looked away out of embarrassment. 

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Marco said after a while, “When did it happen?”

“Six months ago. IED.”

“You’re Army, right?”

Reiner nodded.

Marco cycled through a few more questions before he sat back in his chair and handed the prosthetic back to Reiner. 

“Well, there’s not much I can do for you right now, man. I can schedule you for a fitting of a new prosthetic--”

Reiner shook his head. “I don’t have the money.”

“And that’s the worst case scenario,” Marco agreed. “What I can do for you is suggest you try a couple different Stump Socks, you know what those are? Those are the best for finding the right fit with the socket. And also refer you to one of the guys who works here, actually. Have you met Bert Hoover yet?”

Reiner shrugged. “I don’t think so, I don’t remember...”

“You’d remember. He’s tall, dark, and shy. He’s our plastics attending, so he might be able to help you with a consult on the scarring, but he also spends a lot of time in the burn ward, working with skin in general. He’s just a wealth of knowledge.”

“Can he help me with how fucking itchy the scars get?” Reiner said through gritted teeth, scratching his fingernails over them.

Marco chuckled. “Most likely. He’s probably in the cafeteria for lunch right now, we could go hunt him down if you want. I’m heading over there now.”

Reiner rolled the thick plastic cover back onto his thigh and started putting the prosthetic back on. He winced when he got it into place; the friction on the sore parts hurt even worse now that it had been temporarily relieved.

Marco waited patiently, and when Reiner finished tying his shoes, they headed toward the cafeteria together.

 

*

 

12:16 PM

Tall, dark and shy. Tall, dark and shy. That was a good way to explain Doctor Hoover. Bert bowed his head over his sandwich at the table with the rest of the plastics guys, listening to the conversation going on. They knew he was paying attention, because every so often one of them would turn to him for his opinion. He would answer quietly, a few words. That was usually enough. 

“Here comes the army guy,” said Nanabe, keeping his voice low. 

“Reiner Braun,” said Petra. “That’s Braun, and the other one is Levi.”

Bert glanced up from under his dark bangs to where the residents were pointing. The line that wound its way round the edge of the cafeteria where the different food options were set out, and Bert made out his friend Marco talking to someone--

It wasn’t hard to pick the soldier out. Not just the dog tags hanging from his neck. Not just the thick stocky build of Reiner Braun that strained against the fabric of his lab coat and screamed Army guy. Not just the hair cut or the way he moved, with a tight, tense swagger to his hips. And those warm dark eyes, and that hard jaw, and the smile that tugged at the edge of his mouth as he spoke, and the confidence--

The longer Bert stared, the more embarrassed he got. His shirt started to cling to his back, sticky with sweat.

Oh my god, he was attractive. 

Bert’s face was burning. 

 

\- -

 

“Hey Reiner,” Marco said, “that’s Bert right over there.”

Reiner followed his line of vision and stopped dead in his tracks. 

His first thought was, that is the cutest person I have ever fucking seen right now.

His second thought was, oh my god he’s looking at me?

His third thought was, goddamn it I am a beast. I opened a chest cavity with a flashlight and a swiss army knife in the middle of the desert. I can totally talk to  
this guy. I can totally talk to this guy. Hell yeah.

“You wanna go talk to him?” Marco asked.

“Fuck no,” Reiner said, letting out the breath he’d been holding.

 

\- -

 

Bert never made eye contact for very long with anyone. But he was staring at this guy. Across the room, so maybe he wouldn’t notice?

And then Reiner turned his eyes on him, and the confidence and swagger seemed to be put on hold for a minute, and Bert couldn’t help but wonder if he was looking at the actual man underneath the cocky soldier. 

Oh no. That made him more attractive.

 

\- - 

 

“What-- are you sure?” Marco looked up at Reiner, confused. “I thought you wanted to ask him about your prosth--”

“No. Nope, I’m good. Really. I’m all set.”

There was no way in hell Reiner was telling this guy about his leg. He felt a blush burn through his cheeks just thinking about it.

 

\- -

 

“Bert, are you ok?”

“What?”

Petra was watching him from her end of the table, a little concerned. 

Before Bert had a chance to think of a response that didn’t equate to “wow that guy is hot,” a sudden thunderous sound rang through the cafeteria: dozens of pagers buzzed at the same time, all taking the same page. Every doctor at every table leaned down and checked the pagers in their pockets or at their waists, including Bert; when the screen of his lit up, he reacted immediately, drawing his chair back and standing up. 

Petra got a page as well, but the rest of the table didn’t. It seemed like only the general surgery teams were getting it, with a smattering of neuro and one or two ortho surgeons. They all flooded into one group towards the doors, the ‘911’ flashing insistently on their pagers as they went. 

Bert was easily a head or so taller than a lot of the others. He could see easily to where Reiner still stood with Marco.

He dropped his eyes.

 

\- -

 

“Shit,” Marco said, putting his own pager back in his pocket. “I wonder what happened.”

Reiner was too busy marveling at how tall this guy was. He thought of every simile and metaphor from grade school about boys as tall as trees when he looked at Bert as he approached them.

“Hey Bert,” Marco said easily as the tall man passed through with the crowd on the way out of the cafeteria.

Reiner shot a dirty look at Marco suddenly, praying that Marco wouldn’t say anything, he would clothesline the guy if he had to--

And then Bert was there, looking down at him with those dark, dark eyes.

 

\- -

 

Bert didn’t know what to say. So he started basic.

He raised his hand in a slight wave. “Hi, Marco.”

He couldn’t take his eyes off Reiner. When his close friend gestured toward the soldier, he was given a full, free pass to just... look at him. Without getting nervous. Without sweat beading on his forehead.

“Bert,” Marco said, “this is Reiner. Reiner, Bert.”

Bert thought quick on what he should say.

Maybe a slick “see you around” or a “you’re making me feel like I’m a teenager again, please stop.” A “you are so handsome” might work. 

“Hi,” Bert said to Reiner.

 

\- -

 

Reiner cleared his throat, trying to feel a little more masculine and badass and tough. Hell yeah. Cute boy talking to me. Fuckin’ right.

“Hey,” Reiner said.

Then Bert was gone, running towards the ER, and Reiner looked so proud of himself he thought he was going to just catch on fire and radiate like the sun.

Nailed it.

 

\- -

 

Marco watched this entire interaction and wondered what he’d missed. But then his thoughts turned back to Jean, wondering if he’d been paged, wondering if he’d called his mom back yet about the damned wedding cake, wondering a lot of things that he just did not want to stress out about while he tried to relax and eat a sandwich right now.

Dirty sex. Dirty sex. Dirty sex. That was his mantra. 

 

\- - - 

 

12:54 PM

Jean picked up his feet as he matched the pace of the others who’d just gotten the 911 page, running towards the ER.

God damn it, of all the things he wanted in life right now, dirty sex was at the top of the list and a 911 was on the bottom. But here he was. 

Jean burst through the door of the emergency room and found a squabbling chaos, trauma rooms and beds being prepped left and right.

“What’s coming in?” he asked one of the nurses, forced to yell over the noise.

“Four car pile up on the free-way, multiple spinal injuries, lacs ranging all over the place, and two or three burn patients -- one of the cars sprung a leak in the gas tank, and the whole thing just lit up.” The nurse said it all so fast, but Jean caught enough of it to grimace and start hunting for a clean pair of gloves. He still had his scrub cap on from the surgery that had gone into lunch. 

“Who needs another pair of hands?” Jean called into the mess of doctors.

Erwin’s voice was strong, calm and determined. “Jean. Here.”

Jean headed for Trauma Room 1 where the voice had come from, finding Erwin with blood up to his elbows. He held packing onto the patients chest with a huge force, trying to staunch the bleeding. Jean took over for him, and Erwin reached for a towel, wiped his hands, then headed north to examine the head injuries.

“Pupils blown,” Erwin said steadily, “lacerations to forehead but no outer trauma visible, I’m gonna need a C.T. as soon as possible to see what kind of internal bleeding we’re dealing with here.” 

“He’s bleeding out his ears,” replied a deep, annoyed voice. “That’s gotta be some kind of internal bleeding.”

Jean hadn’t noticed Levi at first; in the flutter of scrubs and lab coats moving around the room, he hadn’t seen him at all. But how could he have missed him? Levi had his hands buried down to the wrist in a hole in the patient’s abdomen. 

“Move,” Levi said roughly to Jean. 

For once, Jean did as he was told. He took his hands off and stepped back, watching him work.

Levi moved elegantly. He did everything with the fine twist of his hands, working on dealing with the abdomen then moving as he needed to. Erwin worked too; everyone was required to respond to an emergency, even when you were the head of neurosurgery. Erwin seemed delighted and calm at the thought of being covered in blood he hadn’t spilled himself. 

Slowly, Jean realized he was watching less of a trauma situation and more of a dance. Levi and Erwin moved around each other without being awkward and pushy; when one spoke, the other trusted the order he gave implicitly, carrying it out without hesitation. After a while -- a few minutes, maybe a few hours, really a critical point for determining whether this patient got through -- they barely spoke at all. The trust between them was instantaneous and fucking lovely. If they did speak, it wasn’t to ask what the next move should be or argue their decisions; they just seemed to understand. They just seemed to know. If they spoke, it was calling for more supplies or asking for help from a nurse or Jean, who dawdled there, just watching.

Jean could feel his heart beating in his throat. This was the part that he lived for, the beautiful reason he had become a surgeon. The rawness. The dance. The split decisions and the reactive nature of a body to your hands. Only this time, it was two sets of hands working as deftly as one. He had never seen doctors work together so gracefully or powerfully as Levi and Erwin working.

When Jean moved on to another trauma room and offered his help there, he had to force himself to leave. He just wanted to watch the masters. 

 

\- - 

 

5:08 PM

Levi and Erwin worked the OR the way you fall in love. It was hard to remember how awkward and stiff they’d been at the very beginning, just this morning, because their chemistry in the surgery was just so overwhelming. It felt like they’d worked together for years.

They could tell the other’s movements before he made them. And they trusted themselves to be right, and trusted the other to act on it, because if they hadn’t, lives would have been on the line. 

The casualties from the pile-up had been worse than anyone had originally thought, partially due to the slippery conditions of the roads outside. Erwin was unsurprised to learn that it had been raining all day, and he’d had no idea. 

Every surgery he’d previously booked had been shelved for the pile-up survivors; all four ORs in this part of the hospital were occupied, and when one patient was finished -- whether pronounced successful and stable, or given a Time of Death -- the OR was immediately cleaned out and prepared for the next surgery.

This filled Erwin with a quiet. A contentment. This was where he belonged. And he seemed to belong here with Levi.

He relied on Levi’s hands to be there when he had to take his away.

 

*

11:42 PM

It was almost midnight by the time the last of the pile-up victims had been put into post-op. The last of them was rolled out of the operating room that Erwin had been in for almost eight hours. A young woman who’d had shards of glass puncture one of her lungs, among every other injury she sustained.

Levi was covered in blood. He peeled the protective outer garment off, then along with his gloves, threw them in the receptacle on his way out of the OR. Erwin followed, wondering how someone could make themselves so familiar and so at home in a place they hadn’t seen yet. But that was just how Levi was.

Erwin followed, standing beside him at the sinks as they scrubbed their hands. 

Levi glanced sideways. 

Erwin looked back, shaking the excess water off his hands. 

They both wiped their hands and arms down with the sanitary towels provided under the sink, then headed out of the OR and into the strange light of the hallway. They knew it was late, but who can really tell what time of day it is in a hospital?

“You didn’t have to scrub in,” Erwin said.

They walked slowly, side by side, down the length of the hall. Levi kept his eyes on either side of the corridor, reading the numbers and uses posted beside each and every door.

He stopped suddenly in front of 3219 - Supply Closet.

Erwin stopped too, looking down at him with a frown.

Levi grabbed a handful of Erwin’s scrubs by the chest and pushed him backwards, opening the door with his free hand and plunging them into the cool darkness of the closet. He shut the door by slamming Erwin back against it and pressing him into the wood with a rough kiss on the mouth.

Erwin reacted, bowing his head as much as he could to get closer to him and deepening the kiss. Levi kept him forced against the door with surprising strength and Erwin’s hands came to Levi’s face, his fingers grazing his black hair--

Just as suddenly as he’d started it, Levi ended it. He pulled away from Erwin, even his hand, so the space between them felt large and barely there at the same time. Then, he whispered the reply to what Erwin had said just a moment before.

“Yes I did.”

Erwin looked down at him, his back still arched against the door. Without a word, he straightened up and moved out of the way.

Levi opened the door and left him there, licking the taste of him off his lips.

 

\- -

 

Dirty sex. Dirty sex. Dirty.... Sex. Sex...

Jean’s body felt like a lead weight as he dragged it down the hall towards the on-call room. He hoped to God that the dirty sex he’d been looking forward to all day was going to happen at least somewhere close to a bed, because all he wanted to do was sleep. 

But no. He had to stay awake. His relationship depended on it, probably. I mean, no self respecting guy wishes for sleep when his fiancé texts him, “In the on-call room on the fourth floor. Waiting.”

Imagining Marco lying in bed waiting for him was the only thing keeping Jean from nearly crying with exhaustion. With frustration.

He’d finally gotten the results back on Casey. On the neuroblastoma case he’d been chasing around all day, with Erwin on his tail for it, too-- one of the interns had handed it to him as soon as he got out of the last of the surgery for the pile-up.

It was bad. He’d known the scans would probably be bad. It happened. That was the thing about neuroblastomas; if you don’t catch them early enough, they spread.

And Casey’s scans had glowed bright with white marks, the sign of tumors, that had spread through from his brain to his bones.

Jean would tell Casey’s parents tomorrow. And he’d explain to the little boy in any way he could find to make him understand. 

All he wanted to do was sleep. Ah, crap-- no. Dirty sex. Dirty sex.

The on-call room was dark when Jean stepped in. He shrugged off his jacket and peeled the stethoscope from the back of his neck, shoving it in the pocket of the coat; he kicked his shoes off, checking on the tops and bottom bunks of each bed, wondering if Marco had gone back to the apartment, or--

He heard the distinct sound of Marco’s snore.

Jean found him curled up under the covers in the bottom bunk in the corner, fast asleep.

Thank God, was all he could think. 

He climbed into bed next to him and pressed himself into Marco, tangling their legs, yanking the covers over both of them. The space was tight in the double bed, but it didn’t really matter.

“Hmm?” Marco mumbled, waking up slowly.

“Me.” Jean kissed his shoulder.

“Mm... Sex.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Mhmm.” Marco hadn’t opened his eyes. He pulled Jean closer to him.

“Casey’s scans were bad,” Jean said very softly.

Marco opened his eyes. It took him a minute to form full words, but he understood. He knew what it meant.

“I’m sorry, honey,” he whispered.

Jean shook his head. “It happens.”

They shuffled closer together, and Jean kissed him where he could reach, the spot behind Marco’s ear, the edge of his lips. Marco let him run his hands up and down his stomach, his chest, his arms. He let Jean memorize him all over again, reassuring himself that they were healthy. They were whole. they were here. 

“You’re still gonna marry me, right?” Jean murmured, falling asleep.

“In two months,” Marco replied. “Hell or high water.”

They slept like that, with few hours left before the dawn would break into another day.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys liked it... I was so excited by this idea and sfjhsdjfksd.
> 
> I don't know when I'll next update it, but it will become a thing! I promise!
> 
> Also, please be patient with me in regards to medical stuff, situations, etc. I'm researching my ass off and lived in an Grey's Anatomy-obsessive bubble for a while, so I'm doing the best with what I know, but some of you will be better versed than I ever will be... If you see any holes or issues, or just want to comment something helpful, I thank you in advance my lovelies!!! 
> 
> Thank you for reading<3


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